


The Stories Written on Your Skin

by Fledgling



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: A Little Introspection Maybe, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Scars, The Helmet Stays On, discussion of past injuries, thigh worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledgling/pseuds/Fledgling
Summary: In which Cobb appreciates Din’s thighs and the marks on them.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 101





	The Stories Written on Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this other than the fact that Din has some nice thighs.

If Cobb had to pick a favorite part of Din—an impossibility, really—it would have to be the man’s thighs.

Cobb ran his palms up Din’s legs; the tan skin was smooth and warm, dotted with the occasional scar. His legs twitched as Cobb swept his thumbs along the crease where thigh met groin, thick, sturdy muscle shifting under the skin. Cobb flicked his eyes up to Din’s helmet, keeping them there as he shifted to lie on the bed, his shoulders knocking against Din’s knees.

“Cobb,” Din whispered, and Cobb grinned.

“Mhm, I’m here darlin’.”

Din exhaled, a shaky thing that sounded even rougher through the vocoder built into his helmet. He was still so nervous, even though this wasn’t the first or second or tenth time they’d done this kind of thing. It made Cobb’s heart ache every time he thought about it—about Din spending a lifetime alone, no one to show him any kind of care or love. About how he expected every touch to be an attack, something to dodge or counter.

Cobb supposed he wasn’t too dissimilar himself.

He turned his head and kissed the side of Din’s right knee, the joint jumping against the touch. He trailed kisses along the inside of his thigh, each one lingering for several seconds before he moved up just an inch to place the next one. His hand glided along the left thigh, slowly strokes from hip to knee and back again. Din kept shifting against the mattress, his legs trembling with the effort to keep them still. Every exhale came with a tiny sound, barely loud enough to be heard through the helmet.

Cobb’s lips found the edge of a scar, and he lifted his head just enough to take in the shape of it. It was a few inches long, thin and faded with age as it curled around the inside of his thigh towards the top.

“How’d you get this one?” Cobb asked, pressing another kiss to the edge of it.

Din stayed silent for a moment, and Cobb took the opportunity to squeeze his other leg, the muscle unyielding under his touch.

“A knife,” Din finally said, his voice rough, “back when I was still in training.”

Cobb hummed, feathering kisses along the length of the scar.

“We didn’t wear armor to train,” Din continued, “so that we wouldn’t depend on it to keep us safe. We had to learn to defend ourselves with nothing but our own reflexes first.”

“Makes sense I suppose,” Cobb said, pressing one last kiss to the scar before continuing his journey.

Further up, on the top of Din’s thigh, he found a blue and purple bruise the size of his palm. He stared at it for a moment—it was positioned behind where the top of his thigh guard would rest when he wore it.

“Blaster shot,” Din rasped, noticing Cobb’s gaze. “My armor makes sure the shots don’t penetrate, but it’s still a high velocity impact nonetheless. All that force has to go somewhere.”

Cobb nodded in understanding, leaning back down and pressing a gentle kiss to the center of the bruise. He remembered wearing the old, busted suit of armor he had bought off the Jawas, how it deflected shots like it was hardly anything. He didn’t remember any bruises leftover after a fight—but then again, he doubted the Mining Collective had anything as powerful as what Din regularly faced in their arsenal.

Cobb continued his path, listening to Din’s breathing get more and more ragged as he edged closer towards his groin. He had been hard for almost half an hour now, precum leaking from the tip and dripping down the side of his cock. Cobb was tempted to trace its path with his tongue, all the way back to the source—but not yet. Instead, he ran his tongue along the crease of thigh and groin his thumb had found earlier, relishing in the whine that slipped from under Din’s helmet.

A kiss to the point of his hipbone, and then Cobb slithered back down the bed, turning his attention to the left leg. A rough-edged starburst of scar tissue covered half of his kneecap, and Cobb traced the edges of it with his lips.

“I...” Din twisted his head towards the wall. “I fell down a cliff. Busted my knee wide open.”

Cobb winced sympathetically. He’d been very lucky in his life so far to not have to deal with any knee injuries, but he vaguely remembered a miner getting his knee smashed during a cave in when he was a teenager. It had bled and bled, and the man had screamed like Cobb had never heard before as the other miners picked him up and carried him back to town. He had walked with a severe limp for the rest of the time Cobb had known him.

“I had to walk on it for another hour and a half to catch the bounty I was after,” Din muttered. “By the time I captured her and got back to my ship, my entire knee and lower leg was covered in blood. I got her frozen and then just—passed out, right there on the floor. Woke up a few hours later and couldn’t even move my leg. I’m lucky I didn’t do any permanent damage.”

Cobb frowned, his thumb circling the ragged edges of skin.

“I used to be pretty reckless,” Din continued after a moment, voice quiet. “I didn’t care what pain I went through, or how much I neglected myself as long as the job got done. I’d go for days barely eating or sleeping, just for a few minutes lead on a bounty. Sometimes I wonder how I'm still alive.”

“Because you’re a stubborn bastard, that’s why,” Cobb mumbled, pressing a kiss to center of the scar and leaving his lips there as he continued speaking. “And because you’re strong, and smart, and I’d be very sad if I had gone my whole life without meeting you.”

Din huffed, finally turning his head back to face Cobb. Cobb grinned, turning his head to press his cheek against Din’s thigh.

“I’m glad that I met you as well,” Din whispered, his hand threading through Cobb’s hair. There were a lot of things they weren’t saying, things that Cobb felt but couldn’t yet put into words—but they’d get there. He wasn’t usually a patient man, but for Din he would wait forever.

Cobb turned his head and nipped at the skin of Din’s thigh under his cheek, chuckling at the startled jerk it got him. The hand in his hair tightened, and Cobb resumed his trek along Din’s thigh. Another smattering of bruises where Din’s thigh guard had protected him from blaster fire, each one getting a gentle kiss to the center. His hand found the knife scar on his other thigh and he traced it with his fingers, the touch featherlight. Din was back to squirming against the sheet, and Cobb couldn't stop the grin pulling at his mouth.

His lips found another rough-edged scar on his inner thigh, a few inches from the top. It was newer than the others, not yet faded with age. Cobb traced the shape of it with the tip of his tongue.

“What about this one?” Cobb asked.

Din took a second to find his voice, moving his hand to the back of Cobb’s head and scratching the short hairs there.

“That one I got just after I left Mos Pelgo the first time,” he said. “I hadn’t even made it back to Mos Eisley yet.”

Cobb scoffed, “That’s Tatooine for ya.”

Din chuckled, “I suppose. I got ambushed just a few hours outside of Mos Eisley. A trip wire caught the front of my speeder and sent it and everything on it flying, me and Grogu included.”

Cobb's eyes widened, and he lifted his gaze to Din’s helmet.

“The speeder pretty much fell to pieces as soon as it hit the trip wire. You saw the thing, it was barely holding together anyway. A part of it slit my thigh open—glad that it hit there and not a little higher, all things considered.”

Cobb dropped his gaze back to the scar. Since he had been sitting on the speeder when it broke apart, it was a wonder all he had was the single scar to show for it.

“I didn’t even realize I was hurt until the fight was over and I was gathering all my things back together. I was more concerned with making sure the kid was alright. And then it was just,” Din shrugged, “making the rest of the journey to Mos Eisley. Didn’t have a medkit on me, so I just had to deal with it.”

Cobb could imagine it: the hours exposed to glare of the twin suns, surrounded by burning sand for miles and miles; each step pulling at the wound, giving it no chance to even begin healing. Cobb leaned in, kissing the scar reverently and then pressing his tongue flat against it, moving higher and higher until his nose nudged the base of Din’s cock. Din groaned, and Cobb wasted no time in finally giving in and letting his tongue follow the trail of precum up to the head.

“Cobb,” Din gasped, his hips twitching with an aborted thrust.

Cobb grinned, opening his mouth and taking as much of Din as he could in one go. Din moaned, the sound reverberating through his helmet. Cobb grabbed the back of a knee with each hand, pushing and lifting until Din’s thighs were bracketing his head. His hands wandered while his mouth set to work, feeling the muscles in Din's thighs shift as he hollowed his cheek and bobbed his head. Cobb pressed his tongue to the sensitive spot just under the head of Din’s cock, and Din’s thighs squeezed around his head like a vice. Cobb moaned, earning him another aborted thrust. He could feel every twitch, every shiver, Din’s thighs tensing and relaxing with every flick of Cobb’s tongue, every move of his head. Cobb released Din’s dick, licking his lips and pressing a kiss to Din’s left thigh.

“I wanna—can I try something?” Cobb asked.

“Yes, please, just—” Din huffed, letting his legs relax and releasing the death grip he had on Cobb.

Cobb scrambled towards the bedside table, pulling the drawer open and fishing out the lube within.

“Here, roll onto your side,” he instructed as he popped the bottle open.

Din did as told, rolling to face the wall. Cobb followed him, coating his dick in lube with a groan. He laid behind Din, chest pressed to his back, and smeared excess lube along Din’s inner thighs. Some shifting and nudging, and he was sliding his dick between Din’s thighs.

“Oh,” Din gasped, and Cobb chuckled, kissing along the back of his neck.

Cobb gave an experimental thrust, moaning as he did. Din scooted closer, pressing back against him and flexing his thighs, squeezing Cobb’s dick between them.

“Ah, kriff, that’s—that’s good,” Cobb groaned, giving another thrust.

Cobb smeared more lube on his hand, reaching around and wrapping it around Din’s dick. He jerked him in time with his thrusts, both of them panting and moaning. There was little rhythm to their movements, both of them too wound up for anything other than the thought of release. Cobb twisted his wrist on the next upstroke, listening to Din’s moans climb rapidly in pitch.

“Come on, Din, that’s it.”

“Cobb, Cobb, I’m gonna—”

It was all the warning Din could give before he was spilling into Cobb’s hand, shaking and squirming and moaning. Cobb gave a few more thrusts before he fell over the edge with him, groaning Din’s name as he coated the inside of his thighs with cum.

They both laid there for several moments, panting and trembling through the aftershocks. Eventually Cobb sighed and pressed a kiss to the spot where Din’s neck and shoulder met, releasing his cock to drape his arm over his side instead.

“Good?” he asked.

“Good,” Din answered, breathless.

Cobb grinned, nuzzling into the back of Din’s neck, the very tips of wild brown curls brushing his nose from where they peeked out under Din’s helmet. They needed to get up, get clean before the cum and lube started drying—but not just yet. Not when he could hold Din close and feel him relax against him instead.


End file.
